


small tragedies

by TolkienGirl



Series: All That Glitters: Gold Rush!AU [11]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Humor, Poetry, brotherly shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 08:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18116657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: Maglor's flights of poetic fancy are unappreciated by his family, to say the least.





	small tragedies

_where runs the water in the wood_

_where flow our fears, both ill and good_

_where fear can be a good at all_

_I'd seek the answer ere I fall_

_if not for war than what are swords_

_if not for peace, then what are words—_

 

“ _Swords_ doesn’t really rhyme with _words_.”

“Hush, Celegorm! Have you not seen how Lord Tennyson—”

“Ah yes, your highfalutin Tennyson.”

“Get out.”

 

_if not for peace, then what are words?_

_beyond the forest’s branch-bound eyes_

_beyond the_ _inquiry of skies_

_what can I answer, but to ask—_

“Macalaure.”

“Land’s sakes, Maitimo. What _now_?”

“Athair wants to know if your trunks are packed for the morning. I am sorry, to interrupt.”

“Can he spare me just half an hour?”

“Maglor—”

“ _Please_?”

“I will do my best to persuade him, but a quarter of an hour may be all I can buy you.”

 

_—but to ask_

_if both my first and last have passed_

_if love and harm walk hand and hand_

_inside my heart, I cannot stand_

_to bid them let me bide my time_

_in fear of hurt, or life sublime_

_Life sublime?_ A bad line.

_~~in fear of hurt, or life sublime~~ _

_to bid them let me bide my time_

_I’ll call this fear, a fear of mine_

“Maglor Kanafinwe!”

“I’m _coming_!”

 

_My name is Maglor and I write_

_All through the day and through the night_

“Celegorm! We’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Shh. He’s downstairs with Athair, getting scolded.”

_My name is Maglor and I write_

_All through the day and through the night_

_I write until my hands are red_

_I write until they wish I’m dead_

_And who are they? My brothers, sure_

_Who all my writing must endure_

_And singing too! And mournful looks_

_And silly notes in silly books_

_I like to think I’m pretty quick_

_At getting girls, like flames to wick_

_But really I have spots of ink_

_Upon my nose, and ink does stink_

_I sing a song so sweet and sad_

_It really drives my brothers mad_

_And when in trouble I do be_

_I whine, and call it poetry_

“Celegorm, I’ll _kill_ you!”

“Leave it. He’s just trying to provoke you.”

“ _Is he_ , Maitimo? I hadn’t noticed. Celegorm, you had better hide whatever you hold dear—”

“ _Ach_ , and the neighbors used to say that you had Mother’s easy temper.”

“ _What_?”

“Nothing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Set about six years before "the present."


End file.
